


you were born to be a martyr (you refused)

by Atlanta_Black



Series: Harry Potter One-shots [18]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Hermione Granger, Fourth Year Canon Divergence, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 09:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25967374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlanta_Black/pseuds/Atlanta_Black
Summary: Harry Potter stands in the middle of a maze and stares at a trophy he should never have reached and when he hears footsteps behinds him, the beginning of his name coming out of Cedric’s mouth, he reaches and grabs it, trusting the churning in his gut that sayssomething is wrong, something is so very, very wrong.Later he digs shaking fingers into Hermione’s arm and sayshe could have died because of me, Hermione, Cedric could have died because of me.It’s barely a change at all and yet, it’s the only change that is needed.➳Alternatively: A story called, how much weight can you set on a child's shoulders before he shakes it off and turns his back on you?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Voldemort
Series: Harry Potter One-shots [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875151
Comments: 32
Kudos: 685





	you were born to be a martyr (you refused)

**Author's Note:**

> I started this in December 2019 and have been slowly typing away at it ever since. It was meant to be crack treated seriously and then it just kind got serious. I apologize for any whiplash you get when the tone randomly changes. Despite that, I think it turned out pretty great!

There are a thousand divergence points for this story, all just minuscule enough to barely matter except for all the ways they inevitably do. 

You know the story of a boy with knobby knees and taped up glasses, sitting in a boat, staring at a castle and thinking _home_. This is still that story but Harry Potter stands in the middle of a maze, shrubbery climbing high above him and stares at the trophy in front of him, unease crawling down his spine, Krum’s vacant eyes still burning through him. 

Harry Potter stands in the middle of a maze and stares at a trophy he should never have reached and when he hears footsteps behinds him, the beginning of his name coming out of Cedric’s mouth, he reaches and grabs it, trusting the churning in his gut that says _something is wrong, something is so very, very wrong._

Later he digs shaking fingers into Hermione’s arm and says _he could have died because of me, Hermione, Cedric could have died because of me._

_But he didn’t,_ she tells him, hands soft and gentle where touch his face. 

_You’re both fine, mate,_ Ron says, eyes pinched with worry. _Everyone is fine._

It’s barely a change at all and yet, Harry Potter has never been good at finding that righteous anger within himself when he is the only one who has been harmed. And so, there was a graveyard and a man with bone white skin who pressed a finger to Harry’s forehead as if it meant something and Harry tumbled back onto the quidditch field too tired and relieved to bother feeding that kernel of anger inside of himself. 

It’s barely a change at all and yet, it’s the only change that is needed. 

It all starts like this.  


➳

  
Harry is idly contemplating the merits of attempting to poison the toad one night while his hand soaks in the murtlap that Hermione had made for him. Everyone else has gone to bed, leaving Harry to stare into the fire alone and think about how shit his life really is. 

He's in the middle of really digging into how shitty the Dursley's are, really feeling sorry for himself, when a tap on the window causes him to look up. There's a grey, regal looking owl outside of the window and Harry could swear that it's glaring at him. It's only once he lets it in that he realizes the letter it has is for him. He doesn't recognize the owl or the spidery, looping handwriting on the envelope and stands in front of the fireplace for a long moment just staring at the letter. 

Hermione would tell him to check it for curses but really, he's far too tired to care about something as ridiculous as a curse on an envelope. If it's cursed well, that will just be another thing to add to his already shitty life. He mentally shoves the voice in the back of his head screaming ‘no’ down and decides to open the envelope. What’s the worst that could happen?

He plops back down on the couch and tears the letter open with a flourish, almost shocked when nothing happens. He really had expected some type of curse to suddenly spring itself onto him. He reads through the letter, blinks, reads through it again. 

_Harry Potter,_

_I have made the decision, upon receiving advice from Nagini, to ask you for the contents of the prophecy._

_I realize that you will find this request rather strange considering the events that occurred at the end of June, but I ask you to consider this: if you tell me what is in the prophecy, then perhaps I will no longer need to kill you._

_Upon further reflection following my return, I have come to the conclusion that without the full prophecy I am relying upon Dumbledore's interpretation, which is clearly ill advised. I am asking you for the full prophecy so that I can make an informed decision on whether or not you need to die._

_As a gesture of my intentions I would like to offer you one request to be granted at my earliest convenience. Upon completion of the request I will expect the prophecy to be told to me._

_Lord Voldemort_

Harry reads through the letter a few more times, feeling more and more baffled. And then it hits him. 

This is clearly a joke. If Voldemort had actually sent him a letter then he would have cursed it or at least threatened him a few times. Perhaps even have threatened his friends. There's what almost appears to be a threat at one point in the strange letter but otherwise it could almost be called polite. 

This was clearly a joke. Probably the twins or maybe even Dean and Seamus. Well, he'd show them. He'd play along and see what they thought of that. He's sure they're expecting him to panic or go on a mad hunt for this mysterious prophecy but he'll prove them all wrong. Besides, he thinks wrinkling his nose, if there was a prophecy Dumbledore would have told him by now. 

_Voldemort,_

_If you really want this prophecy then I expect something equally useful in return._

_Umbridge has been extra terrible, even for a defense professor. If you could get rid of her within the week so that she stops cutting up my hand with her stupid blood quill then I'll give you what you want._

_Harry Potter_  
_The Boy who Lived and really isn't interested in dying thanks very much_

He reads over his letter again and smirks. If it's the twins he expects that they'll up the pranks on Umbridge for a week which will be funny even if it does make her angrier. Regardless, it'll be funny to see if anyone starts eyeing him extra oddly.   


➳

  
The following week drags itself out to the point that Harry is beginning to wish he could drown himself in his pumpkin juice to get out of going to classes. He had stuffed the prank letter in his bag and doesn't think about it again, his mind far too busy concocting ways to get back at Snape for his latest snide remark. In fact, he isn't sure he would have thought of it again at all, but then it happens. 

They're eating breakfast in the great hall when Dumbledore enters the room, face grave, eyes lacking their customary twinkle, and Harry feels his stomach drop, something foreboding prickling up his spine. 

"I am afraid, children, that I have sobering news today,” he says, eyes solemn in a way that Harry has become too used to seeing. “Professor Umbridge was found dead in her bed this morning. We suspect foul play and the ministry will be in and out of the school as they investigate. If any of you have any insight on how this could have happened, I ask that you come forward and let us know. For now, defense classes will be cancelled until we can find a suitable replacement…” 

Harry tunes out the rest of the announcement, feeling suddenly as if all the blood in his body has turned to ice, leaving his vision swimming and his hands shaking. He makes eye contact with Hermione and Ron, both of whom stare back at him with worried eyes. 

"I think I may have made a mistake,” he whispers hoarsely, jumping to his feet and gesturing for them to follow. Ron pales, shoving one last piece of bacon in his mouth before scrambling up to follow Hermione, who has already grabbed her bag and started stalking towards the doors, mouth pinched. 

"What did you do?" Hermione hisses at him as soon as they duck into a classroom and close the door. 

"In my defense! I thought it was a joke,” he mutters, losing steam as she glares at him. 

"Thought what was a joke? Murder?!" 

"No! Merlin, Hermione! This!" he shoves the letter at Hermione, watching as she reads through it. Ron goes to read over her shoulder. 

Ron's eyebrows shoot up immediately and Hermione's face goes terribly, terrifyingly blank. 

"Ah, Harry, mate, what exactly did you say back?" Ron asks, glancing down at Hermione. 

He swallows, glances at Hermione and looks away. "I may have told him I would give the thing to him if he got rid of Umbridge,” he mutters. “But I would again just like to stress that I thought it was a joke!”

Silence. 

"You... why would... fucking boys..." Hermione mutters to herself, still staring at the letter and Harry is beginning to wonder if Voldemort will have a chance to kill him since it seems Hermione is going to get there first.

"Mate, I think you may have fucked up,” Ron says, taking a step back and staring warily at Hermione. 

"Thanks, yeah, I figured that out myself funnily enough,” he snaps. 

"There's a prophecy,” Hermione says suddenly, looking up at him finally. 

"No, there isn't. Dumbledore hasn't said anything about a prophecy." 

She tilts her head, stares at the letter again. "There is one. Or at the very least someone really made it seem like there was one."

"Hermione, that letter is from Voldemort! He's lying!" he stares at her, wide eyed. Why is she believing anything in that letter?

"Why would he lie, Harry? You're still standing here, alive and healthy. So, he didn't curse the letter. He didn't threaten you even once. He got rid of Umbridge and fulfilled your request just like he said he would. So, why would he lie?"

He stares. Shoves down the anxiety trying to creep into his chest. "There's no prophecy." 

Ron grimaces, "I think she's right mate."

"I'm writing him back,” Hermione says decisively. "We'll see if he deigns to answer a mudblood." 

Ron draws himself up, looking offended for her but she's already turned and left the room before he can say anything. 

They blink at each for a few seconds and then hurry out the door after her. With their luck, if they leave her alone too long, she'll find a way to summon him instead of just writing him back.  


➳

  
_Voldemort,_

 _My name is Hermione Granger, Harry’s best friend. I am also one of those muggleborns that you seem to be so eager to get rid of._

_There seems to have been a slight misunderstanding regarding your previous letter. Harry was under the impression that it was only a joke which is the only reason that he responded to you. We understand now, what with Umbridge's death, that it was not a joke and that you really do expect a response about this prophecy._

_There is no prophecy as far as we are aware. So either someone is lying to you or someone is lying to us._

_I would appreciate a timely response as to what this prophecy is and how you came to know about it. Also, I’m sure this is to much to ask from someone like yourself, but if you could cease trying to murder Harry that would be splendid._

_Hermione Granger_

He blinks down at the letter, taps a finger against the desk and looks at the owl perched in the window clearly waiting for a response. He supposes he should have anticipated this. For all that the boy has an impressively long streak of luck escaping death, he is still only fifteen and therefore, not all that smart. 

Still, he would have expected a letter of threats or for them to go straight to Dumbledore, not this politely worded, passive aggressive letter. 

He reads the first sentence again— Hermione Granger. He does have vague memories from Potter's first year of a small child by the name of Hermione Granger. Quirrel's teaching had given him a headache and he had tended to not pay attention, but he does seem to recall Quirrell grumbling about the exceptionally long essays that she had always turned in. 

Perhaps she is part of the reason why Potter has survived so long.

Regardless, they know nothing about the prophecy. He really sees no reason to respond to them further. He'll just have to direct more energy on getting the prophecy from the ministry. An exhausting task considering the idiots he was surrounded by but a task that must be completed nonetheless. 

He throws the letter in the fire, shoos the owl out of his window, ignoring the glare it sends him, and doesn't think about it again until the same owl shows up two days later with another letter.

_Voldemort,_  
_When I said I wanted a timely reply, I did mean that._

_What do you know about this prophecy? I am waiting on your answer. Harry may be content to forget this but I am not._

_Hermione Granger_

He sighs, throws the letter in the fire, shoos the owl out of the window. Honestly, what threat could she possibly imagine herself to hold over him?  


➳

  
The same owl taps on his window again the next day. He sighs and ignores the baleful look the owl shoots at him as it attempts to peck at his fingers, clearly put out at having to fly back and forth so many times. 

_Listen here, I do not care that you are presumably some dark lord, I WILL find a way to make you answer me._

_If I don't have answers by tomorrow morning, then I'm going to have to resort to extreme measures and I’ve been told that I’m creatively resourceful when I need to be. I know what you're thinking. I'm only sixteen and how could a sixteen year old girl possible make you answer her? Well... I guess you'll find that out Tuesday._

_Tell me about the prophecy._

_Hermione Granger_

He admires the girl's nerve if nothing else. He throws the letter in the fire. 

No matter how powerful of a sixteen year old she is, there is nothing the girl can do to hurt him. He'll have to tell Lucius to change his wards. He's tired of these letters.  


➳

  
Harry is beginning to really worry about Hermione. 

She had spent the entire weekend holed up in the library, furiously scribbling away and glaring at anyone who got too close to her. She had sent out two more letters to Voldemort and seemed to get more and more incensed with every day that she didn't get a reply. 

He's not entirely sure why she's so angry about not receiving a reply, not gaining Voldemort’s attention could only be a good thing. Ron thinks she's just lost her mind completely and Harry finds himself unable to disagree. 

Harry had hesitantly suggested that maybe they should just ask Dumbledore about the prophecy but Hermione had glared at him so hard that she'd broken the quill she was holding and he hadn't suggested it again. He's beginning to think that she doesn't really care about the prophecy and is just angry that Voldemort isn't answering her. 

Monday arrives and he watches her send off three separate letters. There's a viciously pleased expression in her eyes that has him exchanging wary glances with Ron. He's beginning to think that Voldemort may have met his match. That if there is a prophecy maybe it's about Hermione and not Harry. 

He would be fine with that. He's rather tired of all the responsibility on his shoulders and Hermione is more than ready to take The literal Dark Lord on herself.

Tuesday arrives, Harry and Ron still blinking sleep out of their eyes when Hermione plops down on the bench, nearly vibrating with excitement. They both eye here warily but she seems content to ignore them and stare avidly at the ceiling, waiting on the post to arrive.

The post does finally arrive and she snatches the Daily Prophet out of the air before the owl can even really release it. Harry and Ron glance at each and look back at her. They just know that whatever she’s done they aren’t going to like it.

There's a lull in conversation as everyone else also opens the Prophet and then Hermione flings her head back and cackles, the sound echoing through the great hall. 

"Hermione..." Ron starts, hesitates, bacon paused halfway to his mouth. "Hermione, are you okay?" 

The rest of the tables are staring at them. She flips the Prophet around and Harry chokes on his juice. There on the front page is the screaming headline: 

**FORMER HEAD BOY ACTUALLY THE DARK LORD? HOGWARTS AWARDED THE DARK LORD AN AWARD FOR SPECIAL SERVICES TO THE SCHOOL? Read more on pg. 3**

"Hermione, you didn’t,” he gasps, feeling a bit lightheaded from shock. 

She grins, "I told him that he would answer me or he would regret it. I'm already collecting information for the next article if he doesn't respond to me about this one." she pauses, smirks. "I also sent him an incentive to answer me."

Ron is still gaping. Harry chances a glance up at the headmaster only to find him staring at the paper, white faced. 

Merlin, they were in so much trouble.  


➳

  
To Harry and Ron's great relief, an owl does indeed bring a letter from Voldemort later in the evening. They go hide in an empty classroom before opening it. 

_Granger,_

_I do not know how you attained that information or how you convinced that useless reporter to put her name on the article, but congratulations. I now wish to murder you almost as much as I wish to murder Potter._

_The prophecy is very real you stupid girl, otherwise I would not have asked about it._

_I will admit that I am rather curious about which of my followers you think has betrayed me. I do find myself wondering if they are the reason you know far too much about my life._

_Give me their name and I will not kill you._

_Lord Voldemort_

"He must be joking,” she says, flatly.”He won't kill me. Oh, that's very convincing. Let me just hand over all my secrets."

"Er...Hermione, maybe it would be best to just tell him,” Ron says, staring at the letter, face pale. "He did manage to kill Umbridge easily even though she was in the castle." 

She stares and Harry thinks that maybe, maybe she's going to listen to reason. He really should have known better. People thought he was stubborn but really he had absolutely nothing on Hermione when she made her mind up. 

"As if,” she scoffs. "I refuse to be cowed into just giving him the information,” she snaps, turning and stalking out of the room, letter still clenched in her fist. 

Harry and Ron share a tired glance and then hurry after her. It really, really wouldn't do to leave her alone after she's just been threatened by Voldemort himself  


➳

  
Hermione and Voldemort continue to exchange a barrage of letters for the next few months. Letters that range from politely threatening to passive aggressive to overly specific death threats. At least three more articles end up being published in the Daily Prophet and Voldemort attempts to murder Hermione at least six different times. 

Fortunately for them, whatever he did to get to Umbridge isn’t working on Hermione. Although that may have something to do with the fact that she’s taken to walking with the marauders map inside of a textbook that she never puts down. She still hasn’t told Voldemort who the Death Eater is that betrayed him. Still hasn’t given up. 

In fact, Harry thinks she may be getting angrier, which he didn’t think was possible. 

It’s mid-December when he decides that something needs to be done. He decides that since they can’t convince Hermione to just give it up, he’ll have to convince Voldemort instead. It isn’t the best plan but it is the only plan that he has short of telling Dumbledore, and he does not want to think about how pissed Hermione would be if he ratted her out to Dumbledore.

_Voldemort_

_I just want to say, first of all, that I’m not sure how I feel about not being your most hated enemy anymore. Especially since, as far as I can tell, I am the person in this prophecy that you’re so concerned about._

_I would like to propose a deal so that we can go back to hating each other and Hermione can go back to studying and not trying to single handedly destroy you._

_I have to admit though, it does make you seem a lot less terrifying now that I know Hermione is so good at irritating you. But, if you could stop answering her that would be fantastic. In return I will help you figure out what this prophecy is._

_Harry Potter (you know, the boy that you live to hate)_  


➳

  
_Potter,_

_You were never my most hated enemy. That title goes to Dumbledore. You are beginning to sound jealous that I’m not attempting to murder you. Are you really so bored that you wish for me to turn my attention back to you?_

_I will stop sending Granger threats when she tells me what I want to know. I will be getting the prophecy without you, so your offer to help is useless. If you want me to leave the brat alone then I suggest you think of a better counter offer._

_You children seem to think that you’re any match for me and it would be humorous if it wasn’t so annoying. Do not message me again unless you have a good counter offer._

_Lord Voldemort_  


➳

  
_Riddle,_

 _I am not jealous. How dare you? I just want you to stop bothering my friends. Also, you’ve been obsessed with trying to kill me since you came back. Excuse me for thinking that I was your most hated enemy. I don’t see you trying to kill Dumbledore once a year._

_Hermione is never going to tell you what you want to know. Not unless you submit and basically let her win. Which, obviously you won’t do, so there’s no way for either of you to win this strange game you’re playing. For the record, I also know this information._

_We are a match for you. We’ve successfully gotten away from you four years in a row. You tried to kill me when I was a baby and I lived. So, really, I think it’s you who isn’t the match for us._

_I live with muggles every year and you still haven’t managed to find and kill me. If anyone needs to come up with a better offer, it’s you._

_Harry Potter (the boy who is still alive thanks very much)_  


➳

  
_Potter,_

_Muggles. You’ve been living with muggles._

_I did not look there because I didn’t believe that even Dumbledore was foolish enough to repeat that mistake. Clearly I’ve once again underestimated what a complete fool Dumbledore is._

_Tell me, Potter, how do you stomach following Dumbledore when he left you with muggles? Magic hating muggles if my guess is correct, and I do believe it is. How can you even look him in the eye when he left you there?_

_You want a better offer, Harry Potter, here’s one. Give me the information I want and help me get the prophecy. In return, I’ll get you out of the muggle hovel you’re being forced to live in._

_Lord Voldemort_  


➳

  
It takes him over a month to reply. He’s had this sick feeling sitting low in his stomach ever since he’d gotten the last letter. Somehow, it had never really occurred to him that Dumbledore was the one who left him with the Dursley’s. 

He hasn’t said anything to Ron or Hermione about it. Doesn’t want to see the gentle pity in their eyes or the anger in their fists. He’s tempted to say yes. Is so tempted to just let Voldemort get him out of that house and damn the consequences. 

He knows what his answer should be. 

He’s just struggling to make himself put it down on paper. 

And then Voldemort handles it before he can even convince himself to reply.   


➳

  
_Potter,_

_I found the muggles house in a week._

_The house is no longer standing._

_You’re welcome._

_Lord Voldemort_  


➳

  
_Voldemort,_

 _I know it’s taken me a long time to respond. I couldn’t make the choice. ~~I think I’m happy~~ I would have said no and ~~I didn’t want~~ Thanks._

_How were you able to find the house so quickly? Dumbledore said that there were blood wards preventing you from finding me?_

_I don’t suppose you’ve gotten tired of riling Hermione up yet?_

_Harry_  


➳

  
Two months before OWL’s Hermione stops her single woman war against Voldemort and diverts all her attention to studying. Ron and Harry are so relieved that they don’t complain at all when she drags them to the library with her. 

Harry continues to owl Voldemort for the rest of the school year and for the first time ever the end of the school year passes by silently. Dumbledore tells him in serious tones that he’ll be staying at Grimmauld all summer and that he’s not to leave the house without permission. 

He smothers his smile in his hand and averts his eyes, Voldemort’s warning of mind reading still bouncing around his head. It was gonna be a good summer.   


➳

  
It was _not_ going to be a good summer. 

A week into summer hols Hermione is supposed to join them, her parents going to some dental conference. She arrives while he’s outside with Sirius and when he bounds up the stairs later, he finds her leaning against Ron’s bed, arms crossed and a familiar looking parchment dangling from her hand. 

“Harry. Do come on in. Close the door behind you,” she says, voice deceptively calm, eyes darting to whoever is in the hallway behind him. Ron is sitting on the bed, cross legged, a grimace on his face and mouths ‘sorry’ when Harry meets his eyes.

He does as she says, leaning back against the doorway. “Is everything okay?” 

“Harry. James. Potter. Please tell me why I had to find out from Voldemort himself that you two have been corresponding for months now?” She bites the words out, voice quiet, fingers clenched tight enough around the paper that it nearly looks painful. 

He swallows, darts another glance at Ron who’s glancing between them warily. “Er… I didn’t want to stress you out?” 

“Try again.”

“Merlin, Hermione, I’m sorry. I just didn’t think you needed to know!” He huffs, feeling irritation start to crawl up his throat. 

“Why would I not need to know!” She snaps, leaning forward, eyes furious. “I’ve been trying to single handedly make him listen to me--”

“Yeah! I know!” He cuts her off, braces his palms flat against the door. “And what gives you the right?” 

She blinks, falls back down on her feet. “I don’t understand?” 

“What gives you the right to single handedly wage battle against him? What gives you the right to take that away from me?” 

Ron’s eyebrows have been steadily creeping higher and higher over the course of the argument. He blinks at that, face settling into a strange expression. An expression that seems caught between denial and disbelief. 

“You must be joking,” Ron says, right as Hermione opens her mouth to respond. “You really must be joking.” 

“What are you talking about, Ron?” Hermione pivots to stare at him, not seeming to understand the look on his face. 

Ron gapes at her, gestures wildly at Harry himself. “You don’t see it?” 

She purses her lips, blinks a few times looking even more confused. “See what?”

“Oh bloody hell, Hermione, he _likes_ him.” 

There’s a beat of silence as Harry tries to parse those words together into a sentence that makes sense. 

Hermione turns back towards him, blinking furiously, face scrunched scrunched up in thought. The anger from earlier seems to have evaporated away. “Merlin. You’re right.”

Ron snorts, “Yeah, that happens sometimes. No need to act so surprised.” 

“Well,” she pauses, face scrunched in thought, fingers tapping rapidly. “Well, that does rather change things.”

“Does it?” Ron mutters.

“Of course. Why do you think he’s been writing Harry back?”

The face Ron makes is one step away from nausea. 

“What are you two talking about?” He forces out, the question sounding strangled even to his own ears. 

Hermione and Ron both turn to blink at him, identical looks of exasperation washing over their faces. 

“Ah, well that is a problem,” Hermione murmurs, tilting her head to stare at him some more. 

“I do not _like_ him,” He spits, stomach churning unpleasantly. “I don’t know where you got that idea but it’s wrong!” 

The doubtful looks on their faces does nothing to calm his stomach and it’s still rolling unpleasantly by the time they go down for dinner. 

He doesn’t like Voldemort. 

That’s absurd.   


➳

  
Hermione and Ron are acting weird. 

He’d gotten used to Hermione acting weird, constantly scribbling out heated replies to Voldemort and planning her next article in that precise, terrifying way that she had. 

He was not used to Ron staring at sheets of parchment and methodically moving a chess piece every time he wrote a line. Wasn’t used to him having ink stained fingers and an eye constantly on a book, tension hiding in his shoulders in a way Harry was only used to seeing at the end of the year when they inevitably ended up fighting for their lives. 

It’s not that they ignore him, because they don’t. But— they also don’t tell him what they’re doing. Or if they’re telling him it’s in ways he doesn’t understand. 

He doesn’t appreciate it regardless. 

In return he doesn’t tell either of them that he’s still exchanging letters with Voldemort. Although he’s sure they’ve guessed. But he knows that they won’t have guessed the contents of the letters which is really all that matters. 

The contents of the letter had taken a strange turn after the last few memories Dumbledore had shown him. There was something about burning a child’s wardrobe that just didn’t sit right with him. Something that left his skin crawling and his stomach twisted in a way that he usually associated with guilt. 

He blames that last bit for being the reason he told Voldemort about the memories. About what all Dumbledore had shown him. 

He doesn’t think he can blame it for what he does next.  


➳

  
He wants it on record that he is perfectly aware that this is not a good idea. This is absolutely an idea that literally no one would agree with him about. In fact he’s not even sure Voldemort expected him to agree to the idea if the thinly veiled surprise in the last letter is anything to go by. 

So yes, he knows it's a bad idea. Yes, he’s doing it anyways. 

He can’t find it in himself to be surprised when Hermione and Ron catch up to right before he gets to the Whomping Willow. 

“Where are you going?” Hermione hisses, eyes slightly to the right of where he’s standing. 

“We nearly got caught twice by Mrs. Norris!” Ron snaps, glancing behind himself nervously. 

“How did you even know I was out here?” He pulls the cloak off and very carefully levitates a stick to hit the knot that freezes the tree. 

“You must be joking, Hermione says flatly and he looks over his shoulder to find her staring at him, mouth pinched tight. 

He doesn’t bother responding, choosing instead to roll his eyes and head for the tree instead. She’ll tell him in a minute anyways. 

He hadn’t told Voldemort they were going to come along but really, he thinks that he can get right over it. 

“Mate, please, for the love of Merlin, tell me you’re not doing what we think you’re doing?”

“I’m not doing whatever it is you think I’m doing.” 

“For the love of Merlin. Harry! This is an awful idea!” Hermione says, voice high pitched and frantic. 

“I know that, Hermione,” he snaps, turning to stare at her. “I just don’t care.” 

She gapes at him. Ron sighs and presses his forehead against the tunnel wall. He turns and keeps walking. 

He pulls ahead quickly and he can hear them whispering furiously behind him. Probably planning on what to do if this goes sideways fast. But he really doesn’t care, that hadn’t been a lie. 

He’s so tired of this war. Of all this seemingly pointless fighting that just ends with more people dead. They all seem to think that it’s up to him to end it despite how little he wants to be the one with that weight on his shoulders. They all keep placing it there and then expecting him to stand still and wait for them to give him the go ahead. Well, he’s quite done with that. 

If this is his weight to bear then he’d rather just get this over with. 

If this is his weight to bear then that means he gets to make the choice on how to end this fight. 

If this is his weight to bear… Well, he would rather not bear it at all.   


➳

  
Ron and Hermione are a comforting presence at his back, despite his annoyance at them following him. He hadn’t really expected anything else and he is happy they’re here. 

Voldemort is waiting at the edge of the tree line and does nothing but raise an eyebrow at Hermione and Ron’s presence. 

Meanwhile he’s sure Ron and Hermione are mimicking his slack jawed expression at Voldemort’s appearance. 

It’s like looking at a strange warped version of a man caught between Tom Riddle and Voldemort. The red eyes, the cheekbones that are just a tad too sharp to be natural, skin just a shade too pale to be normal; but his hair is black and wavy, curling around his ears softly, he has a nose and eyebrows. He could nearly pass for an abnormally, good looking human if you didn’t know what you were looking for. 

“If you’re quite done staring…” Voldemort says, raising an eyebrow and letting the sentence trail off. 

Harry feels himself flush and desperately hopes that the twilight sun is too dim for anyone to notice. Judging by the smirk tugging at Voldemort’s mouth that would be a useless hope. 

“Come along then Potter and… friends,” he says, extending a hand and grinning savagely at what is probably Hermione glaring at him. There’s a small, black paperweight clutched in his hand and his eyes are heavy on Harry’s face. “I assume that your two tag alongs will be coming with us.” 

He nods silently, feels Hermione and Ron press in closer on either side of him, neither of them protesting although he’s sure that they want to. They all reach out and touch a single finger to the paperweight, Voldemort whispers a word and then they’re tumbling through air.   


➳

  
The side alley they land in smells weird and does nothing to help his rolling stomach. He will never get used to port keys and rather hopes that Voldemort hasn’t brought them here to murder them. It’s currently all he can do to keep his stomach from crawling out his mouth, he doesn’t think he’d stand much of a chance. 

Hermione recovers before him by mere seconds and when he opens his eyes he finds Ron standing in front of them both, legs spread in a wide stance as if trying to block as much of them as he can. He feels a rush of gratitude sweep through him at the way Ron is standing there, staring Voldemort down. The same rush of gratitude that he always feels when he realizes how much these two would do for him. 

Voldemort is staring back, an amused smirk on his face. He meets Harry’s eyes over Ron’s shoulders and raises an eyebrow. Harry grimaces at him but waves a hand in front himself, catches Ron’s eye when he glances back and smiles gratefully. Voldemort turns and leads the way out of the alleyway, across the street and into… into a small, warm coffee shop. 

He glances sideways and finds Hermione glancing around, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a frown fixed firmly on her face. Ron is glancing around in wonder, Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been in a coffee shop, or at least, not a muggle one. 

There aren’t many people still in the shop this time of night and they get their drinks and find a table easily. Voldemort sits on the bench, back to the wall and they sit opposite Hermione and Ron on either side of him. 

“Do they know why you’re here?” Voldemort asks, hands wrapped around his cup. 

“No, but I’m sure Hermione at least has guessed by now,” he says and then watches in exasperation as she reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a worryingly, thick roll of parchment. 

“Hermione, we’re not done with that,” Ron hisses from his right, reaching across to try and grab it. 

“Yes, obviously I know that Ron but it’s good enough for the moment,” she snaps back, easily keeping the parchment from him and instead reaching across the table and holding it out for Voldemort to take. 

Voldemort stares at her for a long moment, eyes calculating and it suddenly occurs to him that Hermione has probably been cursing her letters. 

“You are aware, Miss Granger, that we are in a muggle establishment,” he says slowly, still making no move to take the parchment from her. 

She glares at him, fingers gripped tight around the edge of the table. “Yes, again, obviously. I do have eyes and a brain,” she hisses out, and he’s suddenly remembering why he really hadn’t wanted her to come along. “I didn’t put anything on it,” _this time_ he hears her mutter under her breath. 

Voldemort clearly hears her as well, eyes narrowing in displeasure but he does slowly reach out and take the parchment from her. He unfolds the roll of parchment just as carefully until Harry thinks Hermione is going to vibrate right out of her seat.

“What is that?” He hisses under his breath, grimacing when Voldemort glances at him in amusement. 

“It’s a treaty proposal,” Ron mutters, shooting another glare at Hermione. “Wasn’t quite done with it yet tho, were we.”

“Honestly, Ron,” she snaps, looking exasperated. “It’s not as if we’re all going to sign the thing right now.” 

Ron looks mutinous, muttering something about pawns and queens that Harry really doesn’t understand the relevance of. 

Voldemort ignores them all as he reads, occasionally taking a sip of his tea and humming consideringly at something he’s read. 

Harry bites into his cinnamon roll mutinously. A treaty. A bloody treaty and they just hadn’t mentioned it to him. 

“Which one of you wrote this?” Voldemort asks after a time, setting his cup down and looking up at them. Ron and Hermione point to each other at the same time and Voldemort sighs heavily. “I see. I assume you have another copy?”

Hermione scoffs. “Obviously.”

Voldemort glares at her but doesn’t bother responding. “And neither of you thought to mention this treaty to Potter?”

Ron shrugs, not looking at all repentant. “We knew he’d end up coming to talk to you eventually anyways. It was really just a matter of time.” 

Harry sputters, mouth already opened to deny the accusation before he registers that he had done exactly that. He takes another bite of his cinnamon roll and glares at them all. Bastards. 

Voldemort hums quietly, finger tapping against the edge of his teacup as he considers them. “And did Potter tell you why he agreed to meet with me?”

Hermione tenses next to him and he can see Ron’s hand slip into his pocket, presumably to grasp at his wand. 

“He did not,” Hermione answers, voice tight and annoyed. 

Voldemort smiles, eyes glittering with amusement and gestures magnanimously at Harry. “Do go ahead and tell them then, Potter.”

He’d rather swallow glass thanks but Hermione and Ron are both staring at him now and he no longer seems to have much of a choice. 

“You know that Dumbledore has been showing me memories,” he mutters, tapping a finger against his cup. “I told Voldemort about them and about some of my dreams from fifth year.” 

Hermione inhales sharply, gripping the edge of her seat tightly. He sighs, biting the bullet and spitting it out. “Part of his soul is in me,” he says quietly, not looking away from his cup. “It’s why I have the scar. We think…” he trails off, throat working furiously, unable to push the words out of his mouth. 

Voldemort sighs heavily before continuing on for him. “When I went to Godric’s Hollow, I believe that Lily Potter did some type of ritual to make the spell backfire. When it did, it inadvertently caused a piece of my soul to get caught in Harry and the scar is a physical manifestation of that. I believe that Dumbledore knows about this.” He takes a sip of his drink, eyeing them calmly, ignoring Hermione’s outraged trembling. 

“I don’t understand,” Ron says after a moment, propping his chin in his hand to stare at Voldemort with narrowed eyes. “Why does this matter? Is the piece of your soul hurting him somehow?” 

“He can’t die as long as it’s in me,” he mutters, quietly enough that he thinks for a moment no one’s even heard him. Thinks that until he notices Hermione’s hands inching towards her pockets. “Hermione, _no_!”

She glares at him, glares at Voldemort and then stands up and storms out of the coffee shop. He stares after her, wondering if they should follow.

“She’ll be fine,” Ron says rubbing at his face, eyes shadowed. He stares at Harry, lips pressed tight and shoulders tense. “You think Dumbledore will kill him if it means killing you,” he says finally, turning to stare at Voldemort, voice dark. 

“Do you not?” Voldemort raises an eyebrow, silently daring Ron to say no.

Ron doesn’t answer, burying his face in his hands and taking slow breaths in and out. Harry presses a shoulder against his and tries to copy the pattern. 

Voldemort goes back to reading the treaty as they wait for Hermione to come back in.   


➳

  
Hermione does eventually storm back inside, Harry’s drink gone cold and Voldemort having produced a red pen from somewhere and started violently marking up the treaty while Ron stares in horror. 

She slams her way back into her seat, swallows the rest of her drink all at once, before crossing her arms and glaring at Voldemort. “You’re going to leave us alone until we graduate.”

He finishes scribbling out a note in the margins before he sets the pen down and looks up at her, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Am I?” 

“Yes,” she hisses furiously. “You are going to leave us alone until we graduate and then we can fight about this treaty and what comes after.” 

“You seem awfully sure of this,” he says, smiling coldly at her. “I came here to make a deal with Potter, not with you.” 

“I want what she said,” he says hurriedly and he does agree but more importantly, he does not want to see these two get into a fight. 

Voldemort rolls his eyes, rolling the treaty up and slipping it into his pocket. “And that is all the three of you wish for?” 

“Suppose it’d be too much to ask for you to put the whole war on hold till we graduate?” Ron asks, hands constantly moving — on the table, in his lap, in his hair — as if he can’t figure out how to keep them still. 

“You would be correct in that assumption.” 

Ron hums, picks up his cup, sets it back down to the left. Picks up his spoon, sets it back down to the right. “Leave Hogwarts completely out of it until we graduate,” he says after a moment and Harry glances to his right, surprised to find Hermione watching Ron with a fascinated expression on her face. 

He looks towards Voldemort only to find him watching Ron with a similarly interested look. “Perhaps,” Voldemort says slowly, eyes fixed on Ron’s hands which have yet to stop moving. “I could be convinced of that.” 

Ron snorts, sitting on his hands in an effort to keep them still. “And what do we have to do to convince you? Offer you a blood sacrifice?”

“Yes. I require four liters of fresh blood on the next full moon.” He sips his tea and Harry narrowly resists the urge to face-plant on the table at the gobsmacked look on Ron’s face. 

“Bloody hell. Did you just make a joke?” Ron blinks furiously. 

"So, I guess this means we're calling a truce?" Harry says, after another moment of Ron just staring at Voldemort in bafflement.

Voldemort stares back, mouth pinched in a way, that if it were anyone else, Harry would say was him holding back laughter. "Yes, Potter. After the misunderstandings we’ve had it would seem to be in our best interests to form a truce.”

Hermione scoffs and glares when Voldemort narrows his eyes at her. “Misunderstandings? You've been trying to murder him his entire life. That's a pretty big misunderstanding,” she snaps, crossing her arms, clearly tired of tiptoeing around the issue. 

"Would you prefer that I continue to try and murder the boy?" he hisses, looking thoroughly put out that Hermione isn't flinching back from him. 

"I'd prefer if you dropped dead actually,” she hisses back. 

Voldemort blinks, clearly not expecting her to be so blatant about it. "Why are you even here? You could have owled this treaty to me. You seem to have no problems owling me letters I have no interest in.“ 

"You are joking right?" Ron asks incredulously before Hermione can give what was sure to be a scathing answer. "We weren't going to let him meet with you alone. No matter how confident he was that you weren't going to try and kill him." 

There's a long pause as Voldemort stares at them and they all stare back. A pause where Harry seriously contemplates his life choices and the decisions that led them here. 

"So, we're all good then?" he asks, breaking the silence. 

"Yes, Potter. We are all good,” Voldemort says, mouth twisting. “I will not bother Hogwarts until you graduate and then we will discuss the treaty.”

"Fantastic, let's get out of here then.” He stands and on impulse sticks his hand out. Voldemort blinks slowly, before reaching and carefully grasping Harry's hand in his own. Something strange shivers down his spine when their skin meets and he holds Voldemort’s gaze as they shake hands.

Voldemort pulls his hand back slowly, face blank, nods at them once and then walks out of the shop. Harry doesn't breathe easily again until they're back at Hogwarts. And even then the weight of Voldemort’s gaze on him doesn't disappear for days.   


➳

  
The rest of sixth year passes by quietly except for Dumbledore’s never ending quest to show him as many memories of a young Tom Riddle as he can. Harry lets him do so, unable to think of a way to get out of the lessons that won’t make Dumbledore look at him suspiciously. 

He tells Voldemort about every single memory he sees, some sort of penance for unintentionally prying into the man’s personal life. Voldemort never addresses the memories but he never tells Harry to stop either, which he takes as permission to continue. And then comes the day that Dumbledore tells him they are going to a cave. Tells him to dress warm and to not worry. 

Harry is immensely worried. Hermione and Ron, when he tells them, stare at him with dark eyes and tell him to not go, none of them quite able to bring themselves to trust that Dumbledore has nothing but good intentions. They can’t think of a way to get him out of going but they do owl Voldemort, letting him know, and hoping that he’ll come up with some solution. 

He doesn’t owl back. 

He doesn’t owl back and Harry walks with Dumbledore off of Hogwarts grounds, hands shaking in his pockets, and lets Dumbledore whisk him away.   


➳

  
The cave is gone. Collapsed. Nothing there to suggest whether the change is recent or something that Voldemort had done months and months ago. 

Dumbledore stares at the collapsed rock for a long time, the ocean screaming next to them and Harry stands there, blinking sea salt out of his eyes and wishing he was anywhere but here. 

Eventually they go back to Hogwarts, Dumbledore silent and contemplative as he sends Harry off to bed. When he gets to his bed he finds Hermione and Ron curled up in it waiting for him. 

He’ll never stop thanking the universe for letting him be friends with them. For having two friends so willing to face down a dark lord with him. He crawls into bed, Ron in the middle as usual, and falls asleep, safe in his bed, his friends close by.   


➳

  
The end of sixth year passes by quietly and he resists the urge to look over his shoulder every five seconds just to insure that he really was going to be blessed with two (relatively) quiet years in a row. 

The rest of sixth year passes by and then so does the summer and seventh year all at once. The days falling into weeks, into months, until he’s sitting in the dorm, the night before graduation, Voldemort’s latest letter clutched in his hand and nerves curled tight in his stomach. 

“Can you believe we’re done!” Ron exclaims, bounding in the room and throwing himself on the bed next to Harry. “Done with school mate! Can you believe it?!”

He doesn’t answer, eyes unseeingly tracing the words on the parchment again. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known this moment was going to come and yet now that it was here…

“Harry?” Ron sits up, knocking his knees against Harry, eyes catching on the parchment he’s holding “ah…. What’s he want now?” 

He has to swallow twice before he can answer, throat gone horribly dry. “Wants to know where we’re going to meet once we get off the train.”

Ron hums quietly, holding a questioning hand out for the letter. Harry gives it to him. There’s nothing personal in this one and isn’t that a strange thought. That buried in his trunk and in his bag are letters containing personal details that Voldemort himself wrote down and sent to Harry. 

“Ron,” he chokes out, hands curled in his bedsheets, the realization that had swept over him earlier sweeping over him again with even more force. 

Ron looks up, face tight with worry as he takes Harry in. “What’s wrong?” 

“Ron, I think, I think I…” he chokes, has to swallow several times, throat working furiously as he tries to spit the words out. “I think I like Voldemort,” he finally pushes out in a rush, heart pounding, the disbelief still nearly as strong as the shock. 

Ron blinks, opens his mouth, shuts it, blinks again. “Right….and you…didn’t know this already?” He asks slowly, tilting his head as if it’ll change what he’s seeing. 

Harry gapes, exclaiming wordlessly and throwing himself, face first, at his pillow. “I’m going to get Hermione,” Ron announces after a moment of listening to Harry scream into his pillow. “Don’t run off.”

Harry isn’t really sure where he would run off to that they couldn’t find him. 

“Err…Harry? You alright there?” 

He turns over, blinking up in confusion at Neville’s face hovering over him. “Neville…yeah, I’m uh…I’m fine, just realized something I probably should have sooner,” he mutters, resisting the urge to turn back over and scream again. 

Neville stares at him, glances over at Ron’s bed, eyebrows furrowed, looks back at him. “Do you want…” he pauses, wrinkles his nose and glances at Ron’s bed again. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Harry should really tell him that Ron and Hermione will be back any minute since he’s clearly wondering where they are but… “Do you think Dumbledore’s right? Do you think we’re at war?” He asks quietly, sitting up and clutching his pillow to his chest. He can’t very well talk to Neville about the fact that he likes Voldemort _(he likes Voldemort)_ but he can kind of talk to him about this. 

Neville goes unnaturally still, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he stares at Harry. Harry has the strangest feeling that he’s made some type of misstep but cannot for the life of him imagine what it was. 

“Is this about…” Neville trails off, glances around the, otherwise empty, room again. Closes the door and then perches precariously on Ron’s bed across from Harry. “Is this about the letters that you’ve been exchanging with you-know-who?” 

Harry stares. 

Rubs his eyes and blinks at the canopy, blinks at Neville. 

Shakes his head like it’ll change what he heard and stares at Neville. 

_“What?!”_

Neville grimaces, foot tapping out a frantic pattern against the carpet. “You’re really bad about leaving the letters just laying around,” he says, shrugging apologetically. “I accidentally knocked your bag over one night near the end of sixth year and I didn’t _mean_ to look at your stuff, honest, but I happened to see his name and uhhh,” he flushes, glancing away. “I read the letter and then you kept leaving them out in the open! So I kept stuffing them in your bag.” He shrugs again, looking much less apologetic. 

Harry can’t seem to remember how to close his mouth, brain gone curiously blank as he stares. “What…but why…what?! Did you tell anyone?!” Where in Merlin’s name were Ron and Hermione when he needed them?

“Thought about it,” Neville admits, foot tapping faster. “Seemed like the right thing to do but you didn’t seem like you’d suddenly turned evil, so I decided to wait and read a couple more letters to find out what you were talking about—”

“I did not leave _that many_ out!” He objects. Sure, maybe he’d been careless here and there but he had been careful, he knows he had. 

“Nah, you didn’t,” Neville agrees easily. “I went through your bag during the last quidditch game of the season, read all the letters in your bag.”

“You went through my bag,” he repeats faintly. Harry isn’t sure if he should be mad about this or not. Is pretty sure he would have done exactly the same thing if the positions had been reversed. 

Neville shrugs again. “Yeah, couldn’t very well ask you about it could I?” 

He dimly realizes his fingers hurt from how hard he’s clenching the pillow and loosens his grip. “No?”

“Exactly, so I read the letters in your bag. Read something about a treaty, some pretty rude things about the headmaster, something about Hermione trying to destroy him that I didn’t understand and then just, a lot of you two sniping at each other which was really weird to read.”

Harry regrets ever starting this conversation. He deeply, deeply regrets it. They don’t have a plan for this because _no one_ was supposed to find out! Hermione is going to kill him. She’s going to kill him and then find a way to bring him back so she can kill him again.

“I like Voldemort,” he blurts out and then claps his hands over his mouth in horror. Neville stares back at him in surprise for a moment before that same horror starts reflecting back at him. _Where the fuck were Hermione and Ron??_

“That’s….uhhhhhhh, that’s…” Neville’s face screws up, mouth twisting in disgust, foot tapping even faster. _“Why?”_

He shrugs, not moving his hands off of his face. His mouth clearly can’t be trusted to not just say things without his permission. 

Neville nods. “Okay, right, so I’m just gonna uhh,” he stands up, nods again, looks wildly around the room. “I’m gonna, just,” he motions to the door, nods again. 

He opens the door, to do what Harry isn’t sure, but when he opens the door, Ron and Hermione come spilling in the room, an extendable ear clutched tight in Ron’s hand. Harry narrows his eyes, hands slamming down onto the bed. 

“YOU TRAITORS!” He throws his pillow at them and then throws his other pillow at them. Fucking traitors, making him deal with this conversation for no reason. 

Neville blinks down at them, looks at Harry and grimaces again and then nods to himself. “I’m going to the library,” he announces and then steps over Ron and Hermione, marching off presumably to do just that. 

“Harry Potter,” Hermione says, somehow sounding menacing despite being sprawled on the floor. “You told me you were _burning_ the letters,”

He swallows, he probably should have done that. “Oops?”   


➳

  
Graduation passes by in a blur of color and noise, Hermione’s face wet with tears and Ron beaming at anyone and everyone. Molly hugs him tight enough that his spine cracks and Sirius lifts him up, spinning around and around in a dizzying circle. He’s not sure if his stomach is churning because of that or if it’s just the guilt.

Remus claps a hand on his shoulder and says in a low, choked tone that his parents would have been _so, so proud of him_. He doesn’t think Remus would say that if he knew the whole truth. 

The next day, as they’re getting ready to board the train for the final time, giddy anticipation racing through them, Harry pauses and looks back at the castle, thinks of Dumbledore in his office and the disappointment that will surely be on his face the next time he sees Harry. Thinks of the years worth of memories he’s shoved into Harry’s head and of a little boy with threadbare clothes, staring in horror at a burning wardrobe. Thinks inexplicably of his cupboard under the stairs, how it would have felt to see it burn at eleven and feels the guilt turn to smoke.

“Harry?” Hermione calls, hanging out of the train door, face lined with concern. 

“Coming,” he says, throws one last glance at the castle, blood thrumming with anticipation. 

“It’ll always feel a bit like leaving home, won’t it,” Hermione says wistfully. 

“A little,” he agrees. “But home is wherever you and Ron are.”

She smiles softly at him before squaring her shoulder and moving further into the train. “You think Ron’s found Neville by now?” she asks, waving at Ginny when they pass her compartment. 

“Hope so, we’re going to need the whole train ride to convince him.”

Sure enough, when they get to their compartment Ron is standing in front of the door, hands held out in front of him in a placating gesture as he talks to Neville. Neville is standing against the window, arms crossed and glaring, a glare which only gets worse when he spots Harry and Hermione. 

“I’m not doing it,” he snaps as soon as they walk in. “You can’t make me.” 

“Obviously,” Hermione says, rolling her eyes and shoving her trunk above the seat, Harry shoves his trunk next to hers. “We’re not going to kidnap you if you say no and, _oh_ , stop looking at me like that,” she snaps at Ron who’s staring at her, eyebrows raised incredulously. “I wasn’t being serious when I suggested that.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Ron mutters slumping down into a seat. Harry sits down next to him, flinging his feet across Ron’s lap. “Oi! I’m not a footrest mate!”

He grins, “Oh, I see, so it’s just Hermione who gets to use you as a footrest then?” 

Ron turns a furious shade of red as Hermione breaks into protest. Neville sighs, dropping into a seat and burying his face in his hands. “I hate all three of you,” he mutters, groaning miserably when Ron laughs at him. 

“Come on Neville, it’ll be a once in a lifetime adventure!” Ron says brightly. 

“Yes, that’s what I’m worried about,” Neville mutters, raising his head to glare at them. “That it will be the last thing I do in my lifetime, because he’s going to _kill me_!”

Hermione snorts. “Well that’s dramatic, if he was going to kill us he could have done that two years ago when we met with him.” She waves a hand dismissively and drops into the seat next to Neville. 

Neville stares at her, turns his head slowly to stare at Ron and Harry, drops his head back into his hands. “I hate you all,” he says again despairingly. “Fine, whatever, when I die I hope you all feel guilty.” 

“You’re not going to die,” Hermione mutters. “I’ll kill him first if he tries anything.” 

“Hermione, Merlin, please do not try to kill the literal dark lord,” Ron mutters rummaging through his bag. “You will lose, I promise.”

“You don’t know that,” she says, sniffing at him. “I’ve been practicing.”

“You’ll still lose,” he says amusedly, wondering how long it’ll take her to break and ask Voldemort to practice fighting with her. 

She glares at him before burying herself in a book. Harry leans against the carriage wall and watches the scenery flash by. This will be the last time he sees it from the train, the last time he sits here surrounded by his friends. Ron has pulled out the treaty and is dramatically reading it to Neville, who looks as if he doesn't know whether to be impressed or horrified and is settling on a twisted mixture of both. 

Harry leans back, watches the scenery flash by and thinks of the last letter that Voldemort sent him. Thinks of the shiver that had run down his spine all those years ago when he’d shaken Voldemort’s hand in that muggle coffee shop. Thinks of the way that against all odds, the pain in his scar from the graveyard had curiously been absent then. 

Thinks of looping ink on parchment and postscripts and a very small, neatly printed, _I’m proud of you, congratulations on graduating_. 

He doesn’t think of all the ways it could go wrong, he’s done that enough in the past two years. Instead, he lets himself think of all the ways it could go right. Surrounded by his friends laughter, Voldemort’s letter tucked safely in his pocket, he can’t help but think it will. 

His scar after all, hadn’t truly burned in over a year, surely that in itself was a sign. A sign that everything, that all of them, were going to be alright.   


➳

  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to commit to it, at least not until I work my way through a bunch of my other WIP's but there is a chance I'll write a sequel to this. It would take a lot of planning since I only have the vaguest ideas of where it's going to go, but maybe one day! 
> 
> Also, for those curious, the trio just talked Neville into going along as a mediator basically. A third party to be there to provide outside insight. Voldemort is probably bringing Narcissa.


End file.
